


Through a window

by queen_bee09



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Boyfriends, Fluff and Angst, Gay, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Looots of different relationships, M/M, Pain, Pianist AU, So much angst, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Suicidal Thoughts, Volleyball, just lots of Haikyuu characters in general ok, kinda short, mentions of self harm, piano player Bokuto
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 02:15:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 14,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29627583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queen_bee09/pseuds/queen_bee09
Summary: All Bokuto Koutarou wants to do is live.All Akaashi Keiji wants to do is die.How can they find the courage to heal?
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	1. The beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Helloooo everyone and thank you for taking a look at my first ever fanfic!! *insert happy dance here*
> 
> Just a heads up: I’m new to this site writing-wise, so if I royally fuck this up, I’m sorry. Also—this fic is a lot about Akaashi being suicidal and the recovery process that comes with that. I have not been in such a situation as I am writing, so if I’m glamorizing it PLEASE TELL ME. I do not want to offend anyone, and I want this to be accurate.
> 
> This chapter has not been reviewed by anyone other than me yet, so I apologize for any grammar or punctuation mistakes, though I don’t think there are many. 
> 
> Anyway. I’m done rambling now. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Without further ado...

It’s not the first time Akaashi Keiji’s wanted to jump.  
The edge is intoxicating, a small barrier between him and the free fall to death. One step, he thinks, one step is all it would take.  
And then—freedom.  
It’s become too much. Life. Once more his parents have forced perfection on him, once more he’s become overworked by school and his job, once more he’s lonely in an ocean of people who are happy.  
And he’s just...done. With pretending. He hates how his fake smile has become foolproof, hates how even when he’s too tired to fake it, his parents won’t notice that he’s there unless his grades are good and his job is good and everything is fitting into the mold they made for him. The perfect son.  
And he’s tired of being alone. Tired of feeling nothing. Tired of life.  
His parents have always been the way they are—perfectionists down to the last detail. Even with their son. They’ve told him to do good in school, to graduate college with a business degree so he can inherit their company, to grow up and find a wife and have kids and be happy.  
But he’s not. Happy. Or straight.  
And his parents would never know, because once he was gone he knew their first thought would be: who will be in charge of the company now? And he did not want to live in a world where he wasn’t wanted by anyone, not even by himself.  
And so, there he is.  
Standing on the precipice of death, and he thinks: good.  
He’s glad no one will have to mourn him when he’s gone.  
He takes a step forward confidently. Then another. Then another, and the edge gets closer and closer and the only thing on his mind is freedom.  
He’s got one foot over the edge when something stops him.  
His foot freezes in midair, hovering.  
It’s piano music.  
Somewhere, someone was playing the most beautiful song Akaashi’s ever heard.  
Slowly, he retracts his foot.  
What…?  
It’s a song he’s never heard before, but it sounds...sad. Full of emotions he can’t place. And it makes him pause.  
It’s close, but he can’t pinpoint where the sound is coming from. The wind carries it and it sounds...light.  
Free.  
Akaashi is hit with the sudden urge to follow it, but how can he?  
He’s on the roof of his apartment building at two in the morning, seconds away from jumping.  
What did he think would happen, anyway?  
It would be stupid to find the piano, to find the pianist. To listen closer.  
And yet...  
Silent, frustrated tears streak down his face and he wants to scream, to yell, anything to get the ache he’s feeling out of his chest.  
Instead, he sits, quietly crying as the song continues softly.  
Weak, his mind mocks him.  
He tries to conjure some sort of courage, something to make him stand up and just...go. To jump, finally. Or to walk back down the stairs to his apartment. He wishes he wasn’t stuck there, in the small space between life and death. He wishes he wasn’t alone. He wishes...  
He wishes the music would never stop. It’s grounding him, rooting him in that in-between, and he simultaneously hates it and is grateful for it.  
Akaashi laughs mirthlessly. Stupid. He was so stupid for sitting here, listening to a stranger play piano, wishing for death.  
He doesn’t have the strength to stand. He’s exhausted, overworked and emotionally drained. He hasn’t slept in days—weeks—and it’s all catching up to him.  
Closing his eyes, he listens.  
The music grows faster, the notes becoming higher and higher, and it was every emotion all at once—too much, he thinks. He cries harder, the melancholy tone of the piano cracking at the iron walls he’s built over the years.  
How?  
And then it stops.  
For a moment, there’s only the sound of Akaashi’s ragged breathing and the traffic below.  
His tears have slowed, his eyes sore and tired. He wishes they would continue. He wishes the feeling he just had would return. He wants the pain to come back.  
But it doesn’t, and he’s left with the silence. With nothing.  
And then it begins again. Slow. Soft. Hopeful.  
It’s beautiful, he thinks again.  
He opens his eyes and looks up...and is met with almost complete darkness—it is a city, after all, and you can rarely see stars—but there’s a peacefulness to it that he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.  
The song continues.  
Akaashi listens.  
The demons start to poke at him again.  
His mind whispers, jump. Do it now. Do it quick. Freedom is near.  
Akaashi listens, focusing on the notes, on the song.  
The demons purr, Freedom, so close. Don’t you wish you could be free? No responsibilities. No work. No pain.  
The piano grows louder, then soft again.  
Akaashi thinks, not tonight.  
Not tonight.  
The song ends.  
Akaashi stands, staring emotionlessly out at the horizon. The dream is over, the moment of peace he felt while listening was gone, replaced by the occasional honk of cars below and the cacophony in his mind.  
Freedom, his brain whispers.  
Soon, he thinks, soon.

—————

Bokuto Koutarou sits in front of his piano and grins, satisfied.  
He isn’t sure where the song came from. He never is. But this one had to be one of his best.  
Unfortunately, his roommate, Kuroo Tetsurou, has other opinions, “It’s two in the morning, Bo, can you not?” He grumbles from the couch.  
“Can I not what?”  
“Wake the whole fucking building, maybe? Go to bed.”  
Bokuto smiles wider at the annoyed, yet affectionate, tone, “You know I can’t sleep if I get an idea, Kuroo! Plus, this one was really good.”  
“Mhm,” his roommate mumbles, smushing a pillow onto each side of his head. “Sleep. Now.”  
“In a minute! I have to write this down.”  
“In the mornin’.”  
“I’ll forget by then!”  
A pause. “Quickly.”  
Bokuto grins, grabbing his notebook and pencil and getting to work. Kuroo was unpleasant when he was tired, but he’d gotten used to it by now. Just as Kuroo has gotten used to his random piano playing, though he hated to admit it.  
As he’s finishing up, he remembers the song. How it felt like bruises, black and blue and painful, but as time went on, it healed. He didn’t know where the sudden inspiration had come from, only that in that moment, he’d felt undeniably sad.  
And so he’d sat down at his piano and began to play, letting the music carry him as it always had.  
He glances towards the open window and frowns slightly. He leaves it open because it’s hot as fuck in their apartment, but...he wonders if he bothers anyone with the noise.  
He also wonders if it makes people feel better. If they feel lighter after listening to it, as he always does after playing.  
Maybe, he thinks, I can make someone happy.  
He decides to keep the window open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: the meet cute


	2. A collision of sorts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akaashi would have laughed if he remembered how to. This man is not what he expected him to look like. He’s muscular and tall, with spiky black hair and dyed white tips, and he’s got a shirt on with a large design of an owl on it. He looks more like he plays American football than the piano.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayeee second chapter let’s go  
> I’m not going to bother with a super long note here but I’d like to say that I’m pretty iffy with updates, especially as the book goes on, so hopefully y’all will stick with me!
> 
> Thank you for reading! <3

Akaashi woke up the next morning with a terrible headache.  
He groaned, stuffing his face into his pillow and wishing he didn’t have to get up, to go to work, to go to school.  
But he had no choice.  
And so he stood, his head pounding, and got ready for the day.  
He was halfway through putting on his shirt when his phone rang. Tugging it down the rest of the way, he answered the call.  
And deeply regretted it.  
“Keiji. I’ve called you once already. Why did you not answer?”  
It was Akaashi’s father, his tone stern and impatient. “I was asleep.”  
“At eight in the morning? Keiji, you must be more efficient with your time if you’re going to inherit the company one day.”  
It was an argument he’d heard too many times before. “Yes, father.”  
“How is school going?”  
“Good.”  
“How are your grades?”  
“Good.”  
The questions continued on like this for awhile—inquiries about school, about the company, and Akaashi giving short, one-word answers.  
His father was ranting about something that had happened at work—some intern had been two minutes late to a meeting and had spilled coffee on themselves. His father muttered about considering firing them.  
Akaashi sighed. He could intervene, defending the poor intern who was probably just having a bad day, but he didn’t have the energy.  
His headache got worse with each word.  
“—the thesis, and I had to find someone else to do it.”  
“Yes, father,” Akaashi mumbled, sipping his coffee and pulling on his shoes.  
“Remember this when you choose a woman to marry, Keiji. She must be an asset.”  
And there it was. Akaashi’s parents didn’t know he was gay, and he preferred to keep it that way. They weren’t subtle with their homophobia, and he knew their reaction would be a bad one.  
It didn’t matter anyway.  
Soon he’d be dead, and they would forget him.  
As his father droned on about some big meeting he has coming up, Akaashi’s mind drifted back to the piano music. He wondered—not for the first time in the last few hours—who had played the song.  
The melody had not left his head. He remembered every note; he’d fallen asleep to the memory of hopeful crescendos and that feeling—peace.  
“Keiji? Are you listening to me?”  
Akaashi snapped out of his thoughts, a bit shaken. “Yes, father. Of course.”  
“You didn’t answer my question. Did you talk to your professor about moving up a class?”  
He hadn’t. The workload for the class he was in at the moment was enough to drown him. He didn’t need any more stacks of paper than he already had.  
“No,” he said honestly, because his father would know if he was lying.  
“What did I say about slacking off, Keiji? You will never be a successful business owner if you are lazy and irresponsible.”  
Akaashi made a mental note to ask the professor. His head protested, the ache growing more insistent. “Yes, father. I’ll ask.”  
“Good. Now, I have a meeting to get to. Ask your professor as soon as possible.”  
And then he hung up. No goodbyes.  
Akaashi stared at the blank screen for a moment, a feeling like he’s missing something flooding through him.  
But then...there it is.  
The music.  
It sounds like it’s real, like it’s right there and not just in his head.  
Akaashi trips over his own feet when he realizes it isn’t.  
It’s real.  
But where?  
It’s close enough to be next door, but he’s got his window open, so it could be anywhere.  
But when he steps out into the hallway, backpack slung over his shoulder, the sound only gets louder.  
A surge of determination rushes through him and he takes a single step forward before he second-guesses himself. This person probably doesn’t need someone barging into their apartment—and especially not him.  
A few apartments down the hall, a door opens and the sound increases tenfold.  
A man steps out, frantically pulling on his shoes as he hops out. Once he’s got them on, he turns back to the person inside and yells, “Some people like to sleep, you know!”  
There’s a loud laugh from the inside, and then a happy, teasing voice shouts back, “Your yelling isn’t helping them!”  
“Yeah, well, they were probably awake anyway.” The man leans against the doorframe, waiting. He’s got a large red sweatshirt on and black jeans, and he already annoys Akaashi. “Move your ass! We’re gonna be late.”  
The music halts and soon, a second man steps into the hall. “Since when have you cared about being on time? Can’t we stop for food first?”  
Akaashi would have laughed if he remembered how to. This man is not what he expected him to look like. He’s muscular and tall, with spiky black hair and dyed white tips, and he’s got a shirt on with a large design of an owl on it. He looks more like he plays American football than the piano.  
“What kind of food?”  
“Burgers!” The man says excitedly.  
“At eight in the morning?”  
“Of course! When else would you eat burgers, Kuroo?”  
Akaashi snorts out loud and regrets it.  
Both men turn to face him.  
“What? You got something against burgers?” The guy with the red sweatshirt—Kuroo—asks.  
Akaashi realizes that he’s actually going to have to talk to these people and sighs. “No.”  
“How long have you been standing there?” The other one questions.  
“I came out here to listen to the music,” Akaashi admits, avoiding the question.  
“You did?” Owl shirt guy exclaims, “Really?”  
“Yes?” His mind is telling him to run, to go away, because why is he still talking to these people who he doesn’t know?  
“That sounds more like a question,” Kuroo remarks.  
Owl shirt guy ignores him. “Did you like it? I made it up just this morning.”  
“It’s beautiful,” Akaashi murmurs.  
Owl shirt guy walks toward him and reaches out his hand. “Bokuto Koutarou.”  
Akaashi shakes his hand. “Akaashi Keiji. It’s nice to meet you, Bokuto-san.”  
“Nice to meet you too! I’m glad you like my music.” Bokuto smiles brightly, dropping his arm back to his side. “And this is Tetsurou Kuroo, my roommate.”  
Kuroo doesn’t reach out for a handshake, so Akaashi just nods at him.  
“Do you want to get burgers with us, Akaashi?” Bokuto asks, bouncing on his toes.  
“I have class,” he says, and he’s surprised to feel disappointed.  
“Ah.” Bokuto deflates like a balloon loosing air. “That’s okay! Maybe next time?”  
Akaashi nods, turning to leave. He pauses and glances back at Bokuto hesitantly. “Will you play again later?”  
It’s as if all the energy he lost returns to him, and once again Bokuto is bouncing and grinning, “Of course! Will you listen?”  
Akaashi nods.  
As he’s leaving, he hears Kuroo whisper, “He’s pretty. Too bad he doesn’t like burgers.”  
It’s better this way, he thinks. Soon he’d be gone.  
The less people that could miss him, the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: not a date


	3. Not a date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter hasn’t been reviewed by anyone yet but I really wanted to post it so...I’ll edit it later. Probably.
> 
> ALSO I DISCOVERED RICH TEXT YAYY so hopefully now some parts are clearer.
> 
> Sorry that this one is so short. The next one is super long and I didn’t know where to divide it up.

“Kurooo...” Bokuto groaned. “He’s so pretty...”

“I _know_ ,” his roommate drawled, “you’ve told me seven times in the past ten minutes.”

“He liked my music...”

“Everyone likes your music, idiot.”

“Akaashi’s different!”

“Just ask him out, Bo,” Kuroo advises. “You’ve got a concert coming up, right? Invite him to that.”

Bokuto sat up quickly. “What if he doesn’t want to?”

“He wants to.”

“You don’t know that!”

Kuroo rolled his eyes and turned so he could face Bokuto head-on. “He was standing there for awhile, you know. Listening.”

“What?”

“In the hallway this morning. He looked...peaceful, you know? That’s not an easy thing to be in college.”

Hope flooded through him. “You think he’ll say yes?”

“Just ask him, Bo.”

—————

“—essay due on Sunday by midnight. I’ll see you all on Monday. Class dismissed.”

Akaashi had never wanted to nap more in his life. Class had gone on forever, it seemed, and this professor was known for his long speeches and monotone voice. Once his classmates had left, he stood from his seat and began to open his mouth to ask the professor to be moved up a class, and was promptly interrupted.

“AKAASHI!”

He whirled around. “Bokuto-san?”

Indeed, there the pianist stood in the doorway to the classroom, grinning. “I was wondering if—“

“Excuse me,” Akaashi’s professor interrupted, “if you are going to socialize, please do it outside of the classroom.”

“Yes, sir,” Akaashi mumbled, annoyed. He’d have to ask later.

In the hall, Bokuto waited, looking crestfallen. Akaashi wondered how he changed moods so quickly. “I didn’t get you in trouble, did I?”

“No, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi gave him a small, reassuring smile.

“Good!” Akaashi noted that Bokuto clenched and unclenched his fists when he was nervous—one of the many things he did, like the bouncing. 

“Why are you on this side of the campus?” He asked.

“Oh!” Bokuto blushed, his face turning a bright red. “I-I was just wondering if you’d come watch me play?”

“Now?”

“No! Well, I mean...I have a concert coming up and I’d, um...like for you to come watch.”

“A concert?” Akaashi repeated.

“Yeah...y-you don’t have to come. If you don’t want to.”

Before Akaashi knew what he was saying, he blurted, “Of course I’ll come watch.”

“Really?” Bokuto seemed genuinely surprised, his jaw dropped and his eyes wide.  
“Yes, Bokuto-san. When is it?”

Bokuto beamed. “Tomorrow at seven.”  
  
Akaashi wished he remembered how to smile, because something bloomed inside him at Bokuto’s joy. A feeling he couldn’t remember the name of.  
  
_Peace_ , his demons whispered, _soon there will be peace._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: the concert


	4. Kind of a date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day, Akaashi regrets saying yes.  
> He’s stressing out big time, and all motivation to do his homework is gone. Piles of papers and folders with things that are due, but when he looks at the pages he can’t focus.  
> Why did Bokuto even ask him? He’s no one important—not interesting in any way. Average. Mundane. Boring.  
> And Bokuto…is the opposite. He plays piano beautifully, he’s loud and bright and everything Akaashi’s not.  
> So, why him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins

The next day, Akaashi regrets saying yes.  
He’s stressing out big time, and all motivation to do his homework is gone. Piles of papers and folders with things that are due, but when he looks at the pages he can’t focus.  
Why did Bokuto even ask him? He’s no one important—not interesting in any way. Average. Mundane. Boring.  
And Bokuto…is the opposite. He plays piano beautifully, he’s loud and bright and everything Akaashi’s not.  
So, why him?  
An even more important question is: is this a date?  
He tells himself it’s not, but he’s half-convinced it is, and it’s messing with him. I mean, it’s not like they’re watching it together, but that’s only because Akaashi is watching him.  
His demons whisper, _he won’t like you. You’re broken._  
He knows.  
It doesn’t matter, anyway.  
Soon he’ll be gone.  
Bokuto will forget.  
...probably.  
Akaashi wishes he’d stayed in his apartment yesterday morning. He most likely would never have met Bokuto or Kuroo, and this whole thing would never have happened.  
A reminder dings on his phone— _Bokuto-san’s concert. 7:00pm._ It’s a one-and-a-half hour warning, but he doesn’t need it. He’s been ready for hours.  
And suddenly, he’s curious as to why Bokuto is having a concert. Akaashi knows Bokuto is amazing at piano and incredibly talented, but he’d never heard of him before now.  
He googles it. _Bokuto Koutarou._  
Instantly, he’s met with many, many articles—most of the recent ones about the concert happening that night.  
He clicks on the first one.  
 _Bokuto Koutarou is set to perform tonight at…_  
He skims the first part—the statistics—until he reaches the part where they talk about his music.  
 _A truly inspiring performance, unlike any seen before. Bokuto left the audience on the edge of their seats, captivated by his skill and ability to put any emotion into a single measure._  
Akaashi knows the feeling.  
His phone rings and he jumps. It’s an unknown number, and he answers hesitantly, “Akaashi Keiji speaking.”  
“AKAASHI!”  
Akaashi rolls his eyes, his worries melting away, and says, “Hello, Bokuto-san.”  
“You don’t need to call me that, you know. Bokuto is my name.”  
“I know that.”  
“So just call me Bokuto!”  
“Mhm,” Akaashi hummed, knowing he couldn’t. Knowing he shouldn't get too close to Bokuto. “How did you get my number?”  
“Kuroo told me.”  
“How did Kuroo know?” Akaashi amends.  
“I dunno. A friend of his, I think. Suga-something?”  
Akaashi silently curses his neighbor, Sugawara, and grumbles, “oh.”  
“Are you ready?”  
Akaashi startled. “It’s five-thirty, Bokuto-san. I thought you said it started at seven.”  
“It does! I thought we should get dinner first.” He sounded noticeably more nervous at the end, like he thought Akaashi would refuse.  
Akaashi isn’t hungry, but he says, “Good idea,” because he doesn’t want Bokuto to worry. “You do know I live just down the hall, right? You don’t need to call me.”  
“I know,” Bokuto says, the relief clear in his tone, “I didn’t want to intrude. Kuroo says I have a very loud personality.”  
The remark surprises Akaashi enough that he snorts a laugh. “You won’t be intruding, Bokuto-san. I’m ready to go when you are.” He’s been ready all day, but he’s not going to tell Bokuto that.  
Someone knocks on the door. Akaashi raises an eyebrow. “I’ll be out in a second,” he says, and then promptly hangs up.  
Moments later, he’s in the hall with Bokuto, who’s bouncing even more than usual. “Hey, hey, Akaashi! Ready to go?”  
Akaashi nods, following Bokuto, who had taken the lead as they walked to the elevator.  
The light is dim and Akaashi uses the moment to take in Bokuto. He wears a white dress shirt and fitted black pants, and his suit jacket is slung over one shoulder. Whoever tailored his suit had to be some sort of genius, because it fits him perfectly, accenting the sharp lines of his shoulders and hinting at muscle. Akaashi blushes a little when Bokuto turns back and smiles at him.  
“What do you want to eat?” Bokuto asks as the elevator doors slide closed.  
Akaashi gives him a small smile. “How about burgers?”  
—————  
Bokuto is _flying_.  
Well, not really. But it feels like it. He’s overjoyed that Akaashi said yes, and he’s determined to impress him. And he had the honor of making Akaashi blush, which he pretended not to notice because Akaashi Keiji did not seem like the type to blush, and he knew if he’d pointed it out, Akaashi would have been embarrassed.  
He has a place in mind for dinner—his favorite restaurant—and he’s glad Akaashi chose burgers, even if Bokuto’s curious as to why Akaashi decided to go now and not yesterday morning when he’d offered.  
He wonders if Kuroo being there had anything to do with it.  
Akaashi comments on his suit, smiling a little, and Bokuto is distracted by the way his face changes when he smiles. They’re rare, he notices, and is glad to see them.  
Still—even though Akaashi had said yes, and even though he was here, Bokuto worried. He was...loud, though that was an understatement. Typically, people shied away from him because, Kuroo had told him honestly, he was slightly clingy.  
He tried not to be.  
But he had been alone for a very long time, and he was afraid of being alone again.  
 _Never again_ , he thinks.  
 _Never again._


	5. Definitely a date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akaashi thought it was strange—the silence. No one seemed to breathe as Bokuto took sat and paused with his fingers hovering over the keys.  
> And then...magic.

They get burgers to go, strolling side-by-side down the street, and it’s already dark because it’s winter, so all the lights are on.

Neon flashes in the corners of Akaashi’s eyes, street lamps glare against the snow, and Bokuto is glowing with happiness.

He’s practically hopping down the street, occasionally pointing and shouting at a sign he thinks is cool or a poster for a movie he wants to watch. Akaashi is content in the shadows, for once. To bask in his glow and to just...listen.

“Akaashi!” Bokuto exclaims, taking a large bite of his burger. “Look a’ the s’ars!”

It takes Akaashi a moment to realize Bokuto wants him to look up—to look at the stars. He does, but it’s not what he was expecting. There’s lights strung above them like a tunnel, each bulb in the shape of a star, softly casting light onto the sidewalk.

He’s hit with a burst of nostalgia, with a sadness that he thought had been gone but in reality was just hidden, and he frowns. His parents—when he was very little—used to take him to this park by their old house. It had been his favorite place for years, especially in the winter, when they’d strung up millions of star-shaped lights just like the ones he was looking at now.

“Akaashi?” His name was said different now, quieter. “Are you okay?”

 _No_ , he wanted to say. _I’m not._

Instead, he faked a smile and nodded.

Bokuto stared at him for a moment, eyes narrowed, but then he moved on. “We’re almost there.”

The demons whispered, _look. Look how you burden him. Look how you ruin his fun._

Akaashi wanted to deny it but couldn’t. He’d definitely put a damper on the mood, and he hated it.

Feeling nauseas, he opened his mouth to tell Bokuto he wanted to go home, but then...he remembered why he was there.

To hear Bokuto Koutarou play.

He asked, “how much longer do we have until your performance?”

”Ten minutes!” Bokuto informed him, “Don’t worry, we’ll make it there on time.”

Akaashi raised an eyebrow, knowing full well they were going to be late at the pace they were walking.

“Okay, we’ll be fashionably late, then,” Bokuto amended after checking the time. 

There was a pause in which Bokuto got a challenging look on his face and said, “Or! We _run_!” And then he took off, leaving Akaashi to stare after him, shocked.

”C’mon Akaashi!” Bokuto shouted, “Bet I can beat you there!”

Akaashi rolled his eyes and muttered, “Doubt it,” and then joined in on the race. He felt slightly stupid, but on the other hand...

He was running alongside Bokuto—who was surprisingly fast—and he was _flying._ He thought that maybe this was what freedom felt like. The cold wind biting at his face and the determined push of his legs, carrying him away.

—————

Bokuto beat Akaashi by mere seconds.

They were still late—though it was less late than before—and there was a pissed off stage manager they had to deal with, but they made it.

Akaashi took his seat just as the lights dimmed. A spotlight shone onto the stage where a piano sat, looking majestic and lonely.

Only seconds later, Bokuto walked out onto the stage. Akaashi briefly wondered if he should clap, but no one else was, so he didn’t. Akaashi thought it was strange—the silence. No one seemed to breathe as Bokuto took sat and paused with his fingers hovering over the keys.

And then...magic.

It began softly, like a siren singing a love song to a ship of sailors. Seductive. Captivating. Quiet, pretty notes echoed through the theater, slowly turning less pretty and more harsh, like an whispered insult.

The notes grew more rapid, calling, beckoning. The notes turned alto—deeper, like a purr—and it truly was everything and more.

A story was being told through emotion—hopeful and happy, at first, then desperate and pained. Akaashi felt his iron walls cracking.

Time seems to slow, drawing out like taffy as Bokuto Koutarou enchants the crowd with his song. It’s like a spell is put on them all—no one speaks. No one moves. They all just sit and listen as the story continues. 

And Akaashi is entranced by how Bokuto looks when he plays—it’s every feeling at once, it’s pure ecstasy, and he looks _free._

The song grew lighter, yet deeper, and Akaashi could swear the audience took a simultaneous inhale as the melody reached its peak. Bokuto’s fingers flew over the keys, playing, playing, playing faster than Akaashi had ever seen anyone play the piano in his life.

And then, a pause.

The slow, pretty notes began again, only this time they were melancholy. A plea. 

The last bit was full of an emotion Akaashi couldn’t name. Light, free, _happy_. It was more than happiness, more than just mere joy.

It was...

The song ended with a single note, and Bokuto let it rest there for a moment, suspended in midair.

Akaashi couldn’t breathe. The night on the roof, Bokuto had been talented. But he hadn’t been...this. _Beautiful,_ Akaashi thought. But no, that wasn’t it, though it was beautiful.

Perfect, he amended. In every way possible, it was perfect.

A woman sitting next to him wiped tears from her face, and her husband was trying and failing to hide his. 

Akaashi wondered how Bokuto had learned to do such a thing. Where he learned to create emotion—to tell a story—from a few keys on a piano.

Everyone stood, clapping and whistling loudly. Akaashi joined them, smiling softly.

Immediately Bokuto’s eyes found him. He smiled a bit hesitantly, waiting for Akaashi’s reaction.

Akaashi mouthed, _perfect._

Bokuto beamed at the praise and bowed.

—————

After the performance, Akaashi met Bokuto backstage.

”AKAASHI!” He yelled, delighted, and embraced him. “How was it?”

Akaashi was silent for a moment, his arms wrapped around Bokuto’s torso, letting himself be held. “Beautiful, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto stepped back, still beaming, and Akaashi wondered when the theater had gotten so cold. “I’m glad you liked it! Would you—“

A chorus of shouts interrupted him.

”I beat you!”

”No, you didn’t, dumbass, I clearly touched the doorframe first. Daichi, tell him I won.”

They turned to face a group of eight men standing just inside the backstage area, arguing. A short, orange-haired boy had his arms up in the air, making whooshing noises and describing to a taller, grumpy, dark-haired boy how he had won the race.

Behind them stood Kuroo, his arms wrapped around a boy with brown hair and dyed blonde tips, who was paying no attention to him and instead was focused on his phone.

Another grumpy-looking dark-haired boy sat in a chair, looking like he was incredibly tired, and on his lap was an incredibly pretty boy, his hand pressed to his chest in mock-sorrow at something the grumpy one had said.

And finally, a tall, muscular boy with an arm wrapped around what Akaashi assumed was his boyfriend, who had grey hair and a bright smile. Akaashi blinked. “Suga?”

The grey-haired one—Sugawara, his neighbor—waved. “Akaashi! I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

”You guys came to watch my show?” Bokuto asked happily.

“Wouldn’t miss it, Bo,” Kuroo said.

”I would have,” the tired-looking man mumbled. 

“Aw, you love me too much to not come, Iwa-chan~,” the man sprawled across his lap purred.

”Oh!” Bokuto exclaimed. “I should introduce everyone!”

He pointed to Kuroo’s date. “Kozume Kenma.”

“Just call me Kenma,” the boy said quietly.

Bokuto gestured to the orange-haired boy and the tall, dark-haired one standing next to him. “Hinata Shoyo and Kageyama Tobio.”

Next was the tired boy. “Iwaizumi Hajime.”

The pretty one. “Oikawa Tooru.”

And finally, Suga’s date. “Sawamura Daichi.”

”Call me Daichi,” the man said warmly.

Akaashi nodded to all of them.

”And this—“ Bokuto gestures to him like he’s on a game show—“is Akaashi Keiji. My date.”

Okay. Definitely a date, then.


	6. The game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once everyone’s set up on court—minus Suga and Oikawa, who were on the bench waiting to be subbed in—a ball is produced by Hinata, and they rock-paper-scissors to see who serves.  
> Akaashi’s team is chosen when Kenma beats Kuroo.  
> The game is fast from the beginning—Bokuto serves and it is immediately received by Daichi, sent to Kageyama for the set, and then…  
> Akaashi’s eyes widen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say a quick thank you to everyone who’s reading this! It means a ton and I love y’all sm <3

Akaashi feels out of place as they turn their attention to him.  
“Date?” Kenma questions, finally looking up from his video game. The group seems to share his curiosity, with matching expressions of what-is-going-on-here?  
Bokuto seems to realize what he said and worriedly glances at Akaashi, wide-eyed. “I—“  
“Yes,” Akaashi interrupts him without thinking. “Date.”  
Bokuto grins.  
—————  
Akaashi discovers quickly that Bokuto’s friends are like a puzzle. Each piece fits perfectly, and everyone has their role. He feels slightly like he’s being shoved into a spot that doesn’t fit, like he’s intruding.  
They decide to leave to get late-night ramen, and even though Akaashi’s tired, he agrees. Unlike him, the majority of the group seems to have boundless energy—especially Hinata and Kageyama.  
He watches as Hinata challenges Kageyama to another race and takes off to who knows where, Kageyama at his heels and Daichi yelling after them to not get too far ahead, idiots, but they’re already gone, and it’s no use.  
“How are they not tired?” Akaashi wonders aloud.  
“They never seem to run out of energy,” Suga laughs.  
“Two of the most competitive people I’ve ever met,” Kuroo muses, “It’s kind of endearing after you get to know them.”  
“You say that now,” Daichi says, “but you haven’t found them practicing in the gym at four in the morning.”  
“It’s all work and no play with those two,” Oikawa sighs.  
“Practicing?” Akaashi echoes.  
“Volleyball!” Bokuto informs him.  
An unexpected surge of excitement rushes through him. “Do all of you play volleyball?”  
A chorus of confirmations makes him want to smile.  
“Do you play, Akaashi?” Bokuto asks.  
He nods. “I used to be a setter.”  
“What?” Oikawa is at his side in an instant, the energy he was seemingly lacking before now returned.  
Daichi groans, “oh, great, another one.”  
Suga punches him in the arm.  
“Dad-chan, you wound me,” Oikawa presses a hand to his heart.  
Akaashi sends Bokuto a questioning look.  
“Oikawa, Kenma, Suga, and Kageyama are also setters!” Bokuto explains, then says, proudly, “I’m an ace.”  
“As is Iwaizumi,” Daichi adds. “I’m a wing spiker, and Kuroo is a middle blocker.”  
Akaashi nods, taking in the new information, and wishes he could forget. The list of people who are going to remember him is growing, and it’s putting a dent in his plan. He could pull away now. He could go home.  
But the thing is—he doesn’t want to.  
Hinata’s voice sounds from behind the group, loud and cheerful, “we should play a game!”  
They all jump. Oikawa, Bokuto, and Kuroo scream.  
“Hinata!” Oikawa hisses, “Don’t scare me like that! It’s bad for my skin.”  
Iwaizumi rolls his eyes.  
“Please!” Hinata is jumping up and down, grinning, “C’mon, one game!”  
“It’s eight-thirty, Hinata,” Daichi says as an attempt to convince him, but it’s of no use.  
Bokuto joins in on the bouncing, “Yeah, Akaashi, I want you to set for me!”  
Oikawa makes puppy-dog eyes at Iwaizumi. “Iwa-chan~”  
“Kageyama!” Hinata shouts, “Come set for me!”  
Akaashi raises his eyebrows at Bokuto, who once again is practically radiating light, and decides there’s no way he can say no, not when there’s a chance Bokuto’s glow will go away.  
The others seem to come to the same conclusion. Kageyama glares but is nodding. Iwaizumi sighs, accepting defeat.  
Daichi doesn’t budge until Suga whispers something in his ear, smirking.  
“...fine,” he agrees begrudgingly.  
—————  
Bokuto thinks that he’s never been happier.  
They’ve decided to head to a nearby outdoor court, chatting along the way, and Bokuto finds out little bits and pieces of Akaashi along the way.  
He figures out that Akaashi’s quite blunt with the things he says, and that he’s got a dry sense of humor that takes some getting used to. The setter also overthinks a lot, and takes his time answering some questions—the more personal ones, like inquiries about his family or other friends.  
Bokuto doesn’t mind. He likes all of Akaashi—even the parts he’s hesitant to share.  
They reach the court after ten minutes of walking, and they split up into teams.  
Bokuto, Akaashi, Iwaizumi, Suga, and Kenma  
Daichi, Kageyama, Hinata, Oikawa, and Kuroo.  
4v4, with one player on the bench to sub in.  
There’s a five minute argument between Kageyama and Oikawa over who should be setter, ending with Iwaizumi convincing Oikawa to back down until the second set with a well-placed insult.  
Once everyone’s set up on court—minus Suga and Oikawa, who were on the bench waiting to be subbed in—a ball is produced by Hinata, and they rock-paper-scissors to see who serves.  
Akaashi’s team is chosen when Kenma beats Kuroo.  
The game is fast from the beginning—Bokuto serves and it is immediately received by Daichi, sent to Kageyama for the set, and then…  
Akaashi’s eyes widen.  
Hinata’s quick attack is so fast he doesn’t even have time to react as it rushes by his face and slams into the ground.  
The rest of them don’t seem surprised.  
“Nice kill!” Is chorused from the other side of the net, and the game moves on.  
The next time the quick attack comes, Kenma’s adjusted to the court and is able to receive it.  
And then the ball is in Akaashi’s hands—just for a second, but it brings back a determined feeling he remembers from high school—and he sends it forward.  
Bokuto is there, his arm raised for the attack, moonlight on his face, and he sends it back over the net with enough speed to rival Hinata’s quick. It’s perfect, missing the blockers and strategically placed so that it’s crooked when Kuroo tries to receive it, bouncing off his arms and flying behind him.  
“Hey, hey, hey!” Bokuto shouts, pumping his fists in the air.  
Akaashi smiles. It’s like watching him play piano—it’s spellbinding and surprising. It makes Akaashi want to try, at least, to live.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOOOO I kinda forgot where I was going with this story for a bit but I’m getting back on track now so yey


	7. Already gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bokuto says, “You can hold my hand whenever, Akaashi.”
> 
> And Akaashi thinks, oh, and takes Bokuto’s hand.
> 
> And it’s enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hand-holding.  
> Yes.

Akaashi regrets playing volleyball.

Daichi’s team won—not a surprise, given they not only had a freak duo to play with, but they worked well together. 

They all did.

 _Like a puzzle,_ he thought again.

“Hard game, Bo!” Kuroo said smugly, “Too bad you lost.”

Bokuto glared at him. “We _would’ve_ won, except Kenma left halfway through the game to play video games.”

“When Shoyo got subbed out, it got boring,” Kenma explained, not looking up from his game. Kuroo watched him play over his shoulder.

Oikawa gasped. “How could it be boring with _me_ on the court?”

”Shut up, shittykawa,” Iwaizumi smacked him. “It isn’t about you.”

”Quite on the contrary, Iwa-chan~“ Oikawa purred, “ _Everything_ is about me.”

” _You—_ “

“Let’s play again!” Hinata said excitedly, jumping as he always was, “ _Kageyama!_ Come set for me!”

“It’s almost eleven at night, you dorks,” Suga scolded fondly, “Get some rest.”

”Aw, Suga, c’mon, only a few sets!” Hinata pleaded.

”We won’t be here past two,” Kageyama promised.

Suga narrowed his eyes. “Two is kinda late, hm?”

”One, then!” Hinata bargained.

”Don’t be later than that,” Suga said. “Or I’ll tell coach to make you run extra laps on Monday.”

”Aww, _S_ _uga..._ ” Hinata whined.

”C’mon, Hinata,” Kageyama grabbed the tiny decoy’s shirt and dragged him back towards the court, “Dumbass.”

Akaashi watched them go with a frown.

”Ugh,” Oikawa groaned, “watching those two makes me want to _barf_.”

“Barf on Iwaizumi,” Bokuto said, taking a few steps away from Oikawa. Akaashi’s noted that this meant he was closer to him, and that Bokuto’s hands were fluttering again.

No one was watching them, really.

Oikawa and Iwaizumi argued loudly.

Kuroo and Kenma sat silently next to each other, content.

Suga and Daichi were gone, probably off to go do whatever Suga had promised the other man earlier.

Bokuto stood quietly, his hands like butterflies.

Akaashi, without realizing what he was doing, reached out and held Bokuto’s hands with his own. _Be still._

Bokuto stilled. 

Akaashi dropped his hands back to his side, flushing. “Sorry.”

_Why did he do that?_

_What if Bokuto didn’t like to be touched?_

_Akaashi was terrible, he was assuming things—_

“Hey, Hey, Akaashi,” Bokuto said quietly. “Why’d you let go?”

_...what?_

”Pardon?”

”You let go,” Bokuto repeated, a small frown on his face. 

“I...did, yes.”

”Why?”

Akaashi stared at Bokuto for a moment, at a loss for words, but then he said, “Because I was worried you wouldn’t want me to, Bokuto-san.”

_Because why would you?_

Bokuto laughed, loud and hoot-like, and Akaashi wondered what was so funny.

_He laughs at you. Of course he does. You’re a screw-up._

But Bokuto says, “You can hold my hand whenever, Akaashi.”

_What?_

And Akaashi thinks, _oh,_ and takes Bokuto’s hand.

_—————_

Bokuto thinks it’s funny, kind of.

Akaashi was worried Bokuto wouldn’t want to hold his hand, and it was so untrue that in the moment, Bokuto had laughed.

He wished he hadn’t—Akaashi had looked almost...defeated. And scared.

He wonders if it’s another one of Akaashi’s rules.

He’s pretty sure they don’t count as actual _rules,_ but Bokuto keeps track of them like they are. In the short time they’ve known each other, he’s noticed how Akaashi second-guesses himself, how he wonders if he is going to say the right thing, how he pauses to gather his thoughts after a question is asked. _Rule 1: say the right thing._ Bokuto also notices the occasional darkness—that _nothingness—_ that passes through Akaashi’s eyes. He hates that look—the fake smile and the pretending. _Rule 2: don’t let your emotions show._

He vowed from the first time he saw it to never let it cross his face again.

And yet...there’s been flashes, all throughout the night.

At the park, when they were walking under the light tunnel.

After the show, when his friends showed up.

During volleyball, when a set was a bit too low.

When he tried to hold Bokuto’s hand.

Bokuto doesn’t know how to fix it. He’s tried all his best jokes and puns, and even then he can only get a small smile out of Akaashi.

 _At least_ , he thinks, _they’re real ones_.

But...he’s here, and Akaashi is holding his hand, and...

Bokuto grins.

Akaashi smiles softly. It’s small, but real, and Bokuto wonders what his unrestrained smile looks like. How Akaashi’s face changes when he laughs, truly, without the bars of a self-built cage holding him back.

He’s smiling, though.

And it’s enough.

—————

Akaashi hates how his mind tries to ruin this.

_Why are you holding his hand?_

_He’s smiling out of pity. Out of kindness. Why would be smile at you?_

_Why would he like you?_

_You’re broken. Broken Akaashi._

_People don’t like broken things._

Akaashi grimaces, wanting to shake the thoughts from his head, even as he agrees with them. _I am broken._

Bokuto is too whole to like broken Akaashi.

Broken Akaashi is too unfixable, too breakable, too...already dead.

He feels like a ghost, watching this life happen through someone else’s eyes. Haunting other people’s lives; a spirit unwanted.

He feels hollow, like a cold wind passing through an empty shell.

And...he _hates it._ So fucking much.

He hates his fake smile.

He hates his _real_ smile.

He hates Bokuto for knowing the difference.

He wishes Bokuto would’ve chosen someone else. Anyone else.

_Why would he choose you?_

Anyone but broken Akaashi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I present to your honor: P A I N
> 
> Because apparently that’s all I know how to write.
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> Next up: some more pain. Also possibly kissing.


	8. Everything plus a song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’ve decided it’s your song,” Bokuto explains.
> 
> “My...song…” Akaashi repeats slowly, staring at the pianist with wide eyes.
> 
> “What? Is it weird?” Bokuto asks self-consciously, “I’m sorry if it’s weird.”
> 
> Kiss him, his mind whispers.
> 
> Akaashi blushes.
> 
> ...what? 
> 
> Where did that come from?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHH  
> *deep breaths*  
> And so it begins

Daichi and Suga are the first to leave, hand in hand.

Then Kuroo and Kenma, talking softly to each other.

Then Oikawa and Iwaizumi, still arguing.

Hinata and Kageyama were still practicing, but getting more tired by the minute, and Akaashi thinks they’ll leave sooner or later.

Bokuto asks, “Ready to head back?” The dyed tips of his hair are titanium white in the moonlight, and Akaashi wonders how much gel he uses to make his hair stick up like that.

Ready to head back? He isn’t. He wants to hold Bokuto’s hand forever. So he says, “will you play for me?”

Bokuto beams. “Of course.”

—————

Bokuto is nervous.

It’s irrational, he knows, but he can’t help the butterflies in his stomach as they walk hand-in-hand down the sidewalk back to the theater.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi muses, “our apartments are in the opposite direction.”

Bokuto nods, probably a little too excessively. “I know. But the theater is this way.”

Akaashi gives him a confused look. “Isn’t it closed.” Though it’s worded like a question, it sounds like a statement.

“Not for me,” Bokuto says proudly. And it’s true. He has access to the theater at all times—at least, that’s what they told him. He hopes he was listening correctly.

“Hmm,” Akaashi hums, lost in thought.

Bokuto takes a moment to just...take him in. Akaashi truly is one of the most beautiful people Bokuto’s ever met—fluffy black hair, deep blue eyes and long, dark lashes that flutter when he’s concentrating. Akaashi’s not short, but he’s shorter than Bokuto, and he thinks, cute.

“How are we going to get inside?” Akaashi asks when they reach the stage door., which is locked.

Truth be told, Bokuto hadn’t considered this.

“Um,” Bokuto fumbles for an option, for some way they can get inside the theater, and comes up with, “through the window?” 

Akaashi snorts.

—————

Bokuto wasn’t joking.

“You’re seriously climbing through the window?” Akaashi asks incredulously, watching as his date struggles to scale a wall to get to a cracked-open window.

“How else would we get in?”

Akaashi raises an eyebrow. “Through the door?”

“It’s locked.”

“We can unlock it.”

“Hey, hey hey!” Bokuto shouts when he reaches the window. “No need. I’m heading in.”

He climbs through and disappears into the darkness. Seconds later, there’s a hard thump, followed by a muttered curse.

The stage door opens, revealing a disheveled but happy Bokuto, his hands once again fluttering. “After you, ‘Kaashi.”

“You’re already inside.”

“I’m being polite.”

Akaashi smiles and rolls his eyes, stepping inside the dark theater. “Where are the lights?”

“Here!” Bokuto’s voice is far away now— _when did he leave?_ —and there’s a loud click.

The lights turn on.

Not all the lights, but...there’s large chandeliers on the ceiling, casting a soft glow onto everything in the theater, which is eerily quiet. The beads hanging from the chandeliers glitter. It’s empty, a vast field of unoccupied seats, of deafening quiet, and Akaashi thinks, it’s nice. The alone-ness. It’s not lonely, just...peaceful.

It’s beautiful—the theater, in dim lighting, a single piano on the stage, and Bokuto sitting in front of it.

Akaashi takes his seat.

And Bokuto plays.

Instantly, Akaashi recognizes the song—it’s the one he heard on the roof, the one that stopped him from jumping.

Akaashi closes his eyes and listens.

It’s the same, but it feels different. Lighter, somehow. Like he’s hearing it through different ears.

The song changes from hopeful, light notes, to sad, fast, dark ones, and Akaashi squeezes his eyes shut tighter against the emotion that overtakes him.

He knows that feeling.

He knows that pain.

He knows.

The song tells a story of happiness turned to sorrow, to nothingness. Of love turned to fear. Of something whole, shattered on the ground. 

_Broken Akaashi._

Can’t even listen to a song without crying.

A tear rolls down his cheek and he wants to laugh. _Stupid_.

God, he’s so _stupid_.

_Broken Akaashi, broken, broken, shattered on the ground._

_How can you find the courage to fix something so hopelessly unfixable?_

The song changes.

It’s new—not like on the roof.

It’s…

It’s not happy. But it’s not sad, either. It’s not hopeful, but it’s not broken.

It’s _healing_.

Sad, slow notes, light and fleeting, echo through the theater. They dance like prima ballerinas, quick on their feet and so, so graceful. 

Akaashi opens his eyes.

And sucks in a quick breath.

Because even though the music is beautiful, watching Bokuto play is...something else.

He looks different on the stage. Free.

He looks like he’s flying—his fingers press the keys lightly, moving slowly from one note to the next, his eyes closed and a small smile tugs on his lips.

He looks like he does right before he hit the volleyball earlier. When Akaashi had set to him, he'd just...jumped. Trusting the ball would be right where he needed it to be.

He plays like he knows the notes will be beautiful no matter what he does.

Some might call it arrogant, the way he creates a story, the way he produces emotion, with his music.

Akaashi calls it perfection.

—————

Bokuto is lost in the music.

He gets this way when he plays—the notes carry him off, and he can’t control what he creates.

The song writes itself.

He’s surprised when his hands choose the song he played the other night—it wasn’t finished yet, but he loves it anyway.

It’s a Romeo and Juliet story of a song—of fast love and quick deaths, of rivalry and passion. 

He thinks, this is the song.

He isn’t sure what it means.

But it’s Akaashi’s song, through and through.

—————

The song goes on for ten minutes. Akaashi wishes it would never end.

The final note rings in his ears, echoing, echoing.

“Did you like it, ‘Kaashi?” Bokuto asks hopefully.

Akaashi blinks, as if waking from a dream, and takes a moment to comprehend the question. “Yes,” he whispers finally, “it’s perfect, Bokuto-san.”

“Good!” Bokuto says, hopping down from the stage to sit next to him. “It’s yours.”

“What?”

“I’ve decided it’s your song,” Bokuto explains.

“My...song…” Akaashi repeats slowly, staring at the pianist with wide eyes.

“What? Is it weird?” Bokuto asks self-consciously, “I’m sorry if it’s weird.”

_Kiss him._

Akaashi blushes.

...what? 

_Where did that come from?_

Akaashi mentally shakes himself. “It’s not weird, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto beams. “Good. Then it’s yours.”

Akaashi leans back in his seat, sighing. Why—

“You have that look again.”

Akaashi startles. “What look?”

“The sad one,” Bokuto mumbles. “Why are you sad?”

“I’m not sad.”

“You are, ‘Kaashi. You don’t have to tell me, but…if it’s about the song thing, I’m sorry,” Bokuto genuinely looks worried, his brows furrowed and his lips turned downward.

“I already told you it’s not weird. I’m glad you made me a song,” Akaashi smiles softly. 

“Then why?” Bokuto reaches forward and tucks a stray curl behind Akaashi’s ear, and it makes Akaashi want to tell him things.

He blurts, “Why me?”

Confused, Bokuto says, “What?”

Akaashi’s not sure how to put it into words—the self-consciousness he’s feeling, the worry that’s seeped into his bones. “I...why me?” He says again.

“Why...you?” Bokuto repeats, squinting as he considers the question. Then he asks, “Why not you?”

Akaashi’s not sure how to answer the question, so he just stares.

Bokuto leans forward, “You’re incredible, Akaashi Keiji. Why not you?”

“B-because,” Akaashi stammers, “I-I’m not...I c-can’t…”

_I’m not worth it._

Bokuto waits, not pushing him and yet...not letting him off the hook.

Akaashi sighs and hates himself when a tear runs down his cheek. He whispers, “I’m broken.” And there’s no other explanation that fits.

It hangs in the air for a moment, there in that dimly lit theater, and for a terrifying moment, Akaashi thinks Bokuto will leave.

_He should._

_You aren’t worth it._

_Stupid._

_You’re broken._

But instead…

Bokuto hugs him tightly.

The demons go quiet.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto whispers, “I don’t care. I like you anyway.”

_I like you anyway._

“But…” Akaashi mumbles, trying to wrap his head around it. “How?”

“You’re smart,” he begins, “smarter than me by a lot. You’re funny. You’re kind. You’re honest. Your sets are perfect. You like my music. You’re beautiful.”

Akaashi flushes.

Bokuto continues, “If you think you’re broken, then I’ll do my best to heal you. I promise.”

_How can you find the courage to fix something so hopelessly unfixable?_

_Together_ , his mind whispers.

Akaashi buries his face in Bokuto’s neck and cries.

It’s ugly tears, falling like waterfalls, and gasping sobs, his body shaking in Bokuto’s arms.

Still, Bokuto holds him.

When all his tears are gone and his eyes are finally dry, he whispers, “Thank you.”

Bokuto hugs him tighter. “It wasn’t the song that set you off, though, right?”

Akaashi laughs.

Bokuto pulls away quickly, eyes wide. 

“What?”

“You laughed,” Bokuto says softly, “Do it again.”

“I can’t laugh on command, Bokuto-san.”

Bokuto considers this. They sit in silence for a minute.

“Will you play for me?” Akaashi asks.

Bokuto grins, “Only if you join me.”

“I don’t know how.”

“I’ll teach you.”

“It’s one in the morning.”

“Kuroo won’t mind,” Bokuto stands and extends a hand for Akaashi to hold, “He’s at Kenma’s tonight.”

“Oh?” Akaashi says, taking his hand.

“Mhm. Every other weekend.”

“Does Kenma not go to our college?”

“Nope! Kenma’s, like, some sort of genius—“ Bokuto continues on talking about Kenma and his business, and Akaashi listens patiently.

They walk hand-in-hand back to Bokuto’s apartment, and this time, when they reach the light tunnel, all Akaashi can feel is hope.

His demons are quiet, for once.

He’s holding Bokuto’s hand.

_I like you anyway._

It’s not just enough—it’s everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY HEY HEYYYY everyone!!  
> I’m gonna be taking a bit of a break (because of school. Ugh) but I promise I’ll be back as soon as possible!!


	9. Cherry blossom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The room was quite large and held a jungle—or something that resembled it. The walls were pained a lush forest green, and various plants were scattered across the floor. Ferns hung from the ceiling, their long leaves and vines brushing against Akaashi’s head as he passed them.
> 
> But the main attraction of the room was an owl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just a fluff chapter, but like...owls, guys. They’re my favorite. I’m seriously considering moving to Japan—you can keep one as a pet, apparently, which is fucking awesome.

They return to Bokuto’s apartment after many, many stops to look at the stars or a tree the pianist liked.

Akaashi blinked, adjusting to the darkness as Bokuto opened the door, whistling a tune Akaashi didn’t recognize. He switched on the light, disappearing behind a wall.

“Do you want something to eat, ‘Kaashi?” Bokuto asks as he walks into the kitchen. “We’ve got some ramen.”

Akaashi shakes his head. “No, thank you, Bokuto-san.”

It’s strange—how awkward the air has suddenly become. Neither of them knew what to say; neither knew what to do.

”Do you...” Bokuto trailed off, opening the fridge and poking around the food inside. There was a moment of silence where Akaashi considered leaving, but the promise of another song kept him there. Bokuto suddenly gasped, standing and turning to face Akaashi with an excited expression. “Wait! I forgot, I wanted to show you something!”

Akaashi raised his eyebrows and nodded for him to continue, curious.

“Follow me!”

He did, trailing behind Bokuto as he was lead to a room that at first resembled an office but once the light was on...

Akaashi stumbled as he stepped inside. “What the...”

The room was quite large and held a jungle—or something that resembled it. The walls were pained a lush forest green, and various plants were scattered across the floor. Ferns hung from the ceiling, their long leaves and vines brushing against Akaashi’s head as he passed them.

But the main attraction of the room was an owl.

A real, living bird of prey stared at them from the branch of a small tree.

It was relatively small—a baby, most likely—with bandages wrapping around it’s left wing.

”Are you allowed to have this in here?” Akaashi wonders aloud. It was, technically, legal to own an owl as a pet in Japan, but it was a strange environment to keep one in.

”Yep!” Bokuto confirms, “Kuroo found her with a broken wing a couple weeks ago. So now I’m taking care of her!”

”I didn’t know you knew how to care for an owl,” Akaashi muses. 

“Well, I mean, it is my major.”

Akaashi swivels around with wide eyes. “Really?”

“Yeah, zoology. Specifically, ornithology.” Bokuto grins, walking over to a box on the other side of the room labeled _food for Fukurō._

 _“_ You named her Fukurō?” Akaashi asks with no small amount of mirth.

“Kuroo named her,” Bokuto says, still leaned over the box. “I call her Cherry.”

Akaashi smiles softly. “Can I pet her?”

”Of course! She’s tamed.” An uncertain pause. “Mostly.”

Akaashi hesitates only a moment before touching the owl’s head. _It’s soft._

Affection swells in his chest as the owl coos and moves closer. “What kind of owl is she?”

“A Ural Owl,” Bokuto informs him, holding cut-up pieces of meat in the palm of his hand as he nears them. “Maybe a month or two old?” He points to the spots where fluff sticks out of her feathers. “She’s still fluffy. Which means she’s not fully an adult yet, so she’s probably about a month and a half old...”

Akaashi’s caught up in the way Bokuto’s face changes when he talks about her, how he looks happy and completely certain in the information he’s sharing. Excited to help. He looks like a professional, gesturing to her wing and frowning as he speaks about the recovery process and eventually having to let her go free. “If I want a pet owl, I can get one,” he says solemnly, “But Cherry is a wild owl. I can’t keep her here when she’s used to flying out there.”

Akaashi stares at him. 

“What?” Bokuto asks self-consciously. “Is it my hair?”

”You’re just...” Akaashi struggles to find a word to describe how he feels in this moment. “Incredible.”

Bokuto turns bright red, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. “T-Thanks, ‘Kaashi,” he mumbles, and he’s smiling.

Akaashi nods, his own cheeks a bit warm, and turns back to look at Cherry. She stares at him with an unimpressed expression: _t_ _hat was the best you could do?_

Akaashi glares at her.

Bokuto brightens suddenly. ”Hey, hey, Akaashi! Want to feed her?”

Grateful for the break in the awkward silence, Akaashi smiles. “Sure, Bokuto-san.”

Beaming, Bokuto gave him a piece of meat. He stood and walked to the other side of the room, the food still in his hand. The pianist crouched and let out a low whistle, holding out his arm like a perch.

Cherry hops down from the tree and waddled across the room, stopping when she reached Bokuto’s feet, nudging at his closed fist.

Bokuto gave her a piece of meat and she hooted in thanks. He looks up at Akaashi and nods at him. “Okay, sit on the ground and hold out your hand.”

Akaashi did as he was told, a small wave or nervousness washing over him. “She won’t...attack me?”

Bokuto laughs. “No. Just give her the food and there won’t be anything to worry about.”

Cherry began her waddle back towards him, cooing along the way. To calm his nerves, he asks, “Why do we make her walk?”

”In case her wing’s permanently damaged,” Bokuto explains, “So she knows how to move around.”

Cherry neared his feet. Akaashi sucks in a quick breath. 

But instead of attacking, she rubs her face against his hand and take a piece of meat gently. 

Akaashi thinks, _cute._

”You're attached now,” Bokuto grins knowingly. “You can hold her, you know. I’ve got a couple extra gloves we can use.”

Akaashi nods, still in awe at how gentle the owl was. It’s surprising—how something so powerful can he kind and soft. To switch so quickly from the attack to...whatever she was doing. Akaashi watches with amusement as she rolls on the ground and hoots. 

Bokuto returns from where he’d gone to get the gloves and frowns. “Aw, Cherry, don’t do that.” He walks over and picks her up, seeming unbothered when the owl hops onto his shoulder and digs her talons in. 

“Was she not supposed to do that?” Akaashi questions as he stands.

”Nope.” Bokuto hands him a glove and he slips it on. “She’s trying to get her bandages off. Thinks it’ll catch on the ground and rip off.”

”She’s smart,” Akaashi muses. 

Bokuto hums his agreement, transferring Cherry from his shoulder to his arm. “Ready?”

 _No._ “Yes.”

Bokuto places Cherry on Akaashi’s arm gently. 

The first thing Akaashi notices is the weight—she weighs a lot more than he expected, and he has to adjust to the heaviness.

The second thing he notices is that it doesn’t hurt. The glove protects him from sharp talons and curious beaks. 

The third thing he notices is Cherry. She looks graceful in this lighting, like something you’d see on a documentary, all regal and proud. She cops happily and adjusts to his arm—which, he hates to admit, is much less beefy than Bokuto’s. 

He asks, “Why Cherry?”

Bokuto is silent for a moment. “I dunno. Thought she looked like a Cherry.”

Akaashi raises an eyebrow at him. “No dramatic story?”

”Nope!” Bokuto crosses his arms over his chest and smiles at him. “She’s pretty. Cherry blossoms are pretty. So... _Cherry_.”

Akaashi laughs under his breath. “Does she ever leave the room?”

”All the time! She likes to sit on the piano when I play late at night,” Bokuto says, taking Cherry back from Akaashi and walking her back over to her tree. “And sometimes she’ll sit on Kuroo’s head to annoy him.”

Akaashi smirks at the owl. “I knew I liked you.”

”Hey, hey, ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto says suddenly, “Want to listen to another song?”

Akaashi smiles. “Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEYYYYYY FLUFF
> 
> Cherry is a name I seriously love so much and if I ever get an owl, that will be it’s name. (Or maybe Bokuto. Either way, it’s an awesome name)


	10. Snow and skating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It begins to snow, the soft flakes catching on the spiky strands of Bokuto’s hair. The pianist’s smile grows, and he spins in slow circles on the ice, his arms spread out wide, laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. AM. BAAAACK!!
> 
> Have some sparkle:  
> (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Bokuto realizes Akaashi’s asleep halfway through the song.

His head is on Bokuto’s shoulder and his breathing is slow, his chest rising and falling in synch with Bokuto’s.

_Cute._

Bokuto doesn’t want to wake him, so he moves slowly, carrying Akaashi bridal-style to the couch, careful not to make too much noise.

Bokuto sits on the floor in front of the couch and studies Akaahi. _He looks tired._ Bokuto frowns. There are purple bags under Akaashi’s eyes, and he seems thinner than usual.

Bokuto makes a mental note to make breakfast for him in the morning.

Akaashi mumbles something in his sleep, his brow furrowing. He looks like he’s in pain—his expression tight and sad.

Without thinking, Bokuto kisses his forehead.

The pain fades from Akaashi’s expression, and he mumbles some more.

Bokuto smiles softly, brushing a stray curl behind Akaashi’s ear.

“Night, ‘Kaashi,” Bokuto whispers. 

—————

Akaashi wakes up in an unfamiliar room. The walls are a soft blue-grey—minus one, which is decorated with bursts of dark greens, depicting a lush forest at midnight, a crescent moon hiding behind a pine tree.

Akaashi recognizes the art style at once. It’s Suga’s work—and a very recent one, too, since he was going through his ‘Nature’ phase at the moment. 

The apartment is nice. It’s not very different from his own, but it feels more...home-like. Akaashi’s apartment is a barren wasteland of unused furniture and empty cabinets. This apartment is...full. There’s large plants scattered across the room, hanging from ceilings and tucked into corners. The couch is decorated with blankets and colorful pillows—the majority of which have owls on them. The coffee table is littered with volleyball magazines and unfinished homework, pencils and pens scattered among them.

His memory returns to him and he recalls an office with an owl—something so out of the ordinary that he wants to laugh. 

Akaashi’s sitting in a recliner that rocks when he moves, a bright pink blanket draped across his lap. He rubs his eyes against the onslaught of light coming through the large windows on the other side of the room. 

“Hey, hey, hey, ‘Kaashi! You’re awake!”

Akaashi almost falls off the recliner. “Bokuto-san...?”

”You must have been really tired,” Bokuto muses as he enters the room—presumably from the kitchen, seeing as he carries two steaming mugs of what Akaashi desperately hopes is coffee.

It is, and he takes his cup gratefully. “I was. When did I fall asleep?”

”A few minutes after I started playing.”

Akaashi cringes internally. “I’m sorry.”

Bokuto waves off his apology, “I’m glad you did! Sleep is good. Anyway, it gave me some time to clean and work on a new piece. I’ll play it for you later.”

”I’d like that.”

Bokuto smiles at him, plopping down into the couch with a loud sigh. “Kuroo won’t be back today until noon. I was thinking we could go down to the river with the cherry blossoms.” Bokuto’s eyes widen after he says this, his face flushing. “O-Only if you want to!”

Akaashi stifles a laugh. “It’s winter.”

”Right! Which means the river is frozen!” Bokuto says, “We can skate on it!”

”I don’t have any skates,” Akaashi says slowly.

”You can borrow Kuroo’s figure skates.”

”I’m no good at skating.” Akaashi knows he’s making excuses. It’s an old habit that’s hard to break. 

Bokuto is persistent, ”I’ll teach you.”

”Just like you tried to teach me how to play the piano?” Akaashi raises an eyebrow.

”It’s not _my_ fault you’ve got clumsy hands,” Bokuto defends, “It’s the thought that counts, right?”

Akaashi gives him a small smile. “Right.”

—————

“How long has Kuroo been figure skating?” Akaashi asks when they reach the river, lacing up his skates the best he can with his nonexistent experience.

Bokuto hums. “Not long. A month? He picks up hobbies left and right.”

”I doubt he’s any good, then,” Akaashi says dryly.

”Oh, no,” Bokuto laughs, “He’s great. He’s good at that...just doing something new. Like sight-reading a song, but instead it’s for _every sport to ever exist._ ”

Akaashi nods appreciatively, glaring down at the ice skates on his feet, which refuse to cooperate and won’t be tied up.

”Need help?” Bokuto asks, seemingly perfectly comfortable in his skates—which are different. _Hockey skates,_ Akaashi remembers.

Akaashi nods. “Yes, please.”

Bokuto crouches in front of him and raises his eyebrows when he looks at the mess Akaashi’s made, but doesn’t comment.

He works quickly, untying and untangling with ease—Akaashi is reminded of when he plays piano.

It takes Akaashi a moment to realize how close they are.

_Kiss him._

Akaashi physically shakes his head, as if that’ll get rid of the thought.

It remains. _Kiss him._

”’Kaashi?” Bokuto inquires, finished with Akaashi’s laces. 

“I’m fine,” Akaashi tells him, placing his hands behind him so he can attempt to stand. He’s on his feet for two seconds before he slips and is on the ground once more, the cold snow biting at his legs and back, even through his many layers of clothing.

Bokuto reaches out his hand.

_You can hold my hand whenever, Akaashi._

Akaashi takes it and stands.

Bokuto acts as a support for him until they reach the edge of the river, his arm around Akaashi’s waist, and Akaashi’s disappointed when he lets go.

”Okay,” Bokuto says once they’re both standing on the ice, “Now push outward with one of your feet and _whoosh_.”

“What?”

”Just... _whoosh._ ”

”Bokuto-san,” Akaashi says slowly, “I don’t speak Hinata.”

Bokuto pauses to comprehend this. Then he says, “Copy what I do.”

Akaashi watches Bokuto push with one foot and then the other, propelling himself forward a few feet before turning and skating back to him.

”Like that!” Bokuto says proudly.

Akaashi nods and pushes with one foot. He underestimates the ice and his skate slips out from under him. _Whoosh_ , Akaashi thinks. 

Bokuto catches his arm before he hits the ice, laughing. “I’ll hold onto you. So you don’t fall.”

Akaashi smiles when Bokuto takes his hand.

”Okay, so...” Bokuto continues to explain how to skate, including lots of _whooshes—_ of which Akaashi is beginning to understand.

Finally, Akaashi learns. He still slips and stumbles, but Bokuto is always there to catch him.

”How did you learn to skate?” Akaashi asks after Bokuto teaches him how to skate in a circle.

Bokuto’s silent for a moment. Then he says sourly, “My parents.”

Akaashi glances at him questioningly. The way Bokuto said it...it was like he hated them.

”They...um. They left me,” Bokuto mumbles, “After I told them I was gay.”

Akaashi’s eyes widen. “I’m sorry, Bokuto-san,” he says softly.

Bokuto shakes his head, a determined look overtaking the sorrowful one. “It’s okay, ‘Kaashi. I’d rather they left while being honest than staying and pretending to love me.”

Akaashi frowns. He wants to refute it, to tell him that _a parent is still a parent_...but he can’t find flaws in Bokuto’s logic. So he says, “I understand.”

And Bokuto smiles. It’s a grateful, soft smile; one Akaashi wishes he could see more often.

It begins to snow, the soft flakes catching on the spiky strands of Bokuto’s hair. The pianist’s smile grows, and he spins in slow circles on the ice, his arms spread out wide, laughing. 

And Akaashi realizes—his demons are quiet. There’s no whisper of self-hate or murmur of death in his mind, and it’s strangely...peaceful.

_I like you anyway._

And so Akaashi smiles. Truly, gratefully, wonderfully, smiles.

And he feels free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOOOO I’m back bitches.  
> I know I wasn’t gone for long, but whatever.  
> This chapter feels kinda dry so maybe I’ll go back and add some spice later but here’s a chapter without any Akaashi demons...I kinda needed a break from that... (•_•)  
> ANYWAY. Thank you for reading. Love you guys loads.


	11. The L word (not lice)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bokuto realizes that he’s truly, irreversibly fucked when Akaashi smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of Bokuto!!

Bokuto realizes that he’s truly, irreversibly fucked when Akaashi smiles.  
Its unrestrained and unlike any of his tiny smiles because he looks _happy_.  
Akaashi Keiji was beautiful before—but when he smiles, it’s like looking directly at the sun. The tips of his ears and nose are pink with the cold, and he’s laughing under his breath.   
Bokuto is staring, jaw dropped, but he doesn’t care. Akaashi is smiling. Akaashi is happy. It’s something Bokuto didn’t know he needed.  
He doesn’t know what to say. _A compliment? Ignore it?_  
But he can’t just ignore it. Not when it’s Akaashi.  
So he decides to say nothing, and just grins.   
Because Bokuto can be nothing but happy in the presence of him.  
He’s fallen for Akaashi Keiji, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.  
—————  
“Woah. Love face.”  
Bokuto trips over his own feet. “What the fuck, Kuroo.”  
”I’m not the one who tripped,” Kuroo says from the couch. Cherry is sitting on his head, as usual. “Also. Daichi and Oikawa are in the kitchen.”  
”Why is Oikawa in the kitchen? Didn’t he—“  
”Blow it up? Yes,” Daichi shouts, “I’m trying to prevent him from doing it again.”  
There’s a large crash followed by muttered curses. Then Oikawa’s voice says, “Daichi! The bowl is sparkling again—“  
” _You put the metal bowl back in the microwave?_ ”  
Kuroo sighs loudly. “Oikawa, maybe you should let Daichi make the brownies.”  
”Roo-chan, do you not trust me?” Oikawa whines.  
”No, actually, I don’t.” Kuroo turns his attention back to Bokuto. “So. Where’s pretty boy?”  
”I’m in the kitchen!” Oikawa sing-songs.  
Kuroo ignores him, waiting for an answer.  
Bokuto shrugs off his coat. “His parents called. He had to go to lunch with them.”  
Oikawa bursts into the living room, flour shaking off him as he walks. “Cut the small talk. Did you bang him or not?”  
Bokuto flushes. “Of course not!”  
Oikawa looks offended. ”What do you mean of course not? He’s almost as pretty as me, Bo, and that’s saying something.”  
”I-I didn’t—“ Bokuto stammers.  
”Don’t listen to him, Bo.” Daichi says, hitting Oikawa on the head with a wooden spoon, “He’s just sad because _Iwa-chan_ and him are fighting.”  
”What?” Bokuto exclaims, “Again?”  
”Shut up, Bo.” Oikawa glares.  
“Dickhead here got jealous and overreacted,” Kuroo explains, “Some girl was flirting with Iwaizumi.”  
”He looked like he liked it!” Oikawa defends, “He was smiling and everything!”  
”Was it a polite smile or a real smile?” Bokuto asks, taking a spot on the couch next to Kuroo.  
“I dunno...”   
“Maybe you should ask him,” Bokuto suggests.  
“What if he doesn’t love me anymore?”  
”You’re engaged, Oikawa,” Daichi rolls his eyes. “I highly doubt that.”  
”But what if?” Oikawa flops onto Kuroo’s lap dramatically. “Kuroo. Tell me. Does Kenma ever smile when girls flirt with him?”  
Kuroo snorts, ”Kenma never smiles, period.”  
”See?” Oikawa pointed at Kuroo accusingly. “Daichi—what about Suga?”  
“Do you really have to ask?” Daichi shouts back from the kitchen, where he’s retreated to make the brownies correctly.   
“He probably doesn’t smile!” Oikawa placed his hands over his face dramatically.  
”No,” Daichi laughs, “Suga beats people up. There’s a difference between his happy smile and his murder smile.”  
Oikawa drags his hands down his face. “What do I do...”  
“I’m gonna call him,” Kuroo grins wickedly.  
”No! Don’t you dare—“  
”Then talk to him, Oikawa.”  
”I don’t want to...”  
Kuroo presses the _call_ button.   
Iwaizumi answers seconds later. “ _Shittykawa_ —“  
”Nope. Kuroo.”  
”And me!” Bokuto adds, leaning closer.  
” _Is Oikawa with you_?”  
”Of course.”  
” _Put him on_.”  
“Hey, pretty boy. It’s for you.”  
Oikawa glares at the phone like it killed his mother. “No.”  
” _Stupidkawa, talk to me_.”  
”You hate me.”  
” _I don’t_.”  
”Waa?” Oikawa snatches the phone out of Kuroo’s hand and takes it off speaker. “You don’t?”  
Pause.  
Oikawa puts a hand on his hip. “Aww, I knew you loved me, Iwa-chan~“  
They let out a simultaneous sigh. Daichi mutters, “Aaand he’s back.”  
”Now that that’s resolved...” Kuroo pointed at Bokuto. “Spill.”  
”There’s nothing to tell.”  
”There is.” Kuroo pressed, “You had the love face on.”  
”I did not!” Bokuto protested.  
“What did you do with Akaashi?” Kuroo asked.  
”Nothing! We went skating.”  
”And then?”  
”He had to go. I told you already.”  
“But...” Kuroo goaded.  
”But nothing.”  
“Tell meee—“  
Daichi interrupted. ”Kuroo, if he doesn’t want to talk, don’t make him.”  
”Whatever, dad.”  
”Fuck _off_ , Kuroo—“  
”Guys!” Bokuto says, and all three turned to look at him, “Seriously, nothing happened.”  
Kuroo deflates. “But the love face...”  
”I never said I didn’t love him.”  
All three swivel toward him, jaws-dropped, and Bokuto realizes what he’s said. _Fuck_.  
“Wait, what?” Oikawa grins.   
“I—uh—“  
”Bo’s in love,” Kuroo wipes a fake tear from his eye. “I’ll be the bestest best man there is, promise.”  
“Guys...” Bokuto groans, covering his red face with his hands.  
Bokuto thinks he’s never been happier.  
—————  
Akaashi’s fucked.  
He’s got dinner with his parents in twenty minutes, and at this rate he’s going to be late.  
He already knows what they’re going to say. _Irresponsible. Lazy._  
He wishes they hadn’t called at all.   
His demons had been gone for almost five hours. Now, they returned full-force.  
He reaches the restaurant late—as he suspected, but that doesn’t make the looks on his parent’s faces any better.  
His mom frowns, “Keiji. You’re late.”  
“Sorry, mother. I was busy.”  
His father snorts. “Slacking off, no doubt.”  
Akaashi says nothing.  
“Shall we go in?” His mother suggests, fanning her face as she sighs. “Let’s hope our table is still available.”  
“Yes,” Akaashi murmurs, wishing he was anywhere else in the world but there.  
He wishes for Bokuto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOOO time for some PAIN  
> I’m seriously so dead because of finals you guys help  
> I shall attempt to write more  
> Wish me luck


	12. Surviving v.s. living

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn’t want to live like them, all stuffy offices and ironed suits.
> 
> He wants freedom. 
> 
> He wants peace. 
> 
> He wants to live.
> 
> Akaashi laughs aloud. When was the last time he’d thought that? When was the last time he wanted to live? A long, long time ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING; THERE ARE MENTIONS OF SELF HARM IN THIS CHAPTER!!  
> Begins at: “Akaashi wants to scream.”  
> If you’re not comfortable with that stuff, skip to: “He misses that feeling.”
> 
> Okay then!  
> I’m just gonna...go...for a bit...

_Bokuto. Bokuto. Bokuto._

It’s the only thing on Akaashi’s mind as they sit at their table, chanted like a prayer in his head. It’s grounding him, for the moment, which is all he can ask for.

His parents sit on one side of the table, so different from Akaashi in their ironed suits and stiff posture, stern expressions cutting into him as he takes his spot on the other side. 

“So, Keiji,” his mother prompts, “How is school? Have you been doing well?”

“Yes, mother,” Akaashi says robotically. It’s a knee-jerk response that he doubts he’ll ever get rid of. “School is good.”

His mother smiles. It’s always been hard to hate her—she’s strict, but loving. She’ll slap you across the face and then offer to clean the wound. “Good. It’s a shame you haven’t been moved up yet. Being stuck with the... _slow_ students must be difficult.”

Akaashi mutters, “Not really,” before he can stop himself. A shock of fear pierces like a knife.

His father and mother raise their eyebrows simultaneously. 

His mother says softly, dangerously, “Oh?”

His father glares silently.

A woman walks up to their table, bubbly and unaware of the tension between the three. “Hello! I’ll be your waiter for this evening. Can I get you something to drink?”

Akaashi thinks, distantly, that the waiter reminds him of Hinata, bright orange hair and a peppy attitude.

His father and mother order some sort of wine and food for him; Akaashi sits quietly and waits.

When the waiter leaves, his parents turn their gazes back to him.

“Any girlfriends, Keiji?” His mother questions.

“Yes,” his father agrees, “It’s about time you got married.”

“No,” Akaashi mumbles. His mind strays to Bokuto.  _Boyfriend, maybe._

“Maybe we should set up some interviews for him.” His mother frowns. “There was a girl we met the other day that was just  wonderful. What was her name? Kiyo-something.”

“Kiyoko Shimizu,” his father offers, scowling. “No, not her. She’s…a  _gay_ .”

His mother’s face twisted up like she’d eaten a lemon. “Oh, right. A shame, really. Such beauty, gone to waste. You know, maybe if we had her meet with Keiji, she”d change her mind…”

Akaashi bristles. He should speak up, say something…

“I don’t want her meeting with Keiji,” his father snaps, “Who knows what she’d say.”

“Yes, but she was so respectful…” his mother sighs. “Where’s the wine? This restaurant has such bad service. It escapes me why this place is your favorite, Keiji.”

It wasn’t. Akaashi doesn’t say anything.  _Shameful. Dishonorable. Broken._

“You really should be looking for a wife, Akaashi. Of course, your education comes first, but how are you going to have children if you spend all your time studying?” 

The wine came and his mother took a long sip. 

His father didn’t touch his glass. “How are classes going? Did you ask to be moved up like you promised?”

“No, father. I was distracted.”  _Disappointment_.

“By _what_?”

“A...friend of mine,” Akaashi admits.

“A  friend ? Keiji, you know we want you to socialize, but this is affecting your studies.”

Akaashi nods, hating himself.  _Liar. Deceiver._

“Who is this friend? Is he from class?”

Akaashi isn’t sure how to answer this. Bokuto wasn’t  from  class, but they went to school together. He says tentatively, “He plays piano.”

“ _Piano_ ?” His father spits it in such a way that you might assume Akaashi had just told him that Bokuto  _throws_ pianos at people. 

His mother says, “How... strange . Are you sure he’s someone you should be friends with? You know, if you befriended someone in your business classes, they could end up as a potential work partner someday.”

Akaashi feels a rush of anger overtake him and he snaps, “It’s not strange. It’s beautiful.”

“Keiji.” His father warns, “Don’t use that tone.”

“I’m sure it is...beautiful…” his mother sighs. “But you aren’t looking to make friends.”

“Then what am I to do?” Akaashi’s voice shakes.  _Weak. Broken._

“Finish school. Get married. Inherit the business,” his father lists angrily. “We’ve talked about this.”

Akaashi mumbles, “What if I don’t  _want_ to?”  _Disappointment_.

“What are you going to do?” His father laughs. “Become an  _editor_?  Keiji, that dream is long dead. I will not have you work in such a place. Your wants are irrelevant.”

Akaashi wants to scream. He wants to cry and shout and fight back and tell them  _I choose my own path_ ,  but he  _can’t_ and he’s stuck to his chair, glaring at the table. His demons pound at his brain and whisper thoughts of death he forgot were there. He wonders what it would feel like to take his dinner knife and scrape it across his skin. If it would hurt less than their shame.  _You wouldn’t be a disappointment if you were gone. You wouldn’t be in pain. You would be free._

He misses that feeling.  _Freedom_ .

He suddenly misses Bokuto.  _Freedom. Peace._

And he’s just so  _done_.  He’s done pretending. He’s done hiding. He’s done trying to live up to their unrealistic expectations. He’s  done. _Broken, sad Akaashi._

But he can’t say anything. 

Because they’re his  _parents_. 

His breathing is rapid and wet with unshed tears. His parents don’t notice.

His mother’s voice is harsh, barbed with venom, “Keiji. You know we both love you. Listen to us. We’re just doing what’s best for you.”

They’re his  _parents_ .

And he would be alone without them.

_No_ ,  his mind whispers,  _not alone._

He’s reminded that someone waits for him. Someone is expecting a call after this dinner is finished. Someone waits for him to return.  _Bokuto_ waits .

_But what if they’re right?_

He wouldn’t get far as an editor without their help.

He’d have to get a second degree, go back to college.

And with what money? He’d have practically nothing.

He’d  _be_ nothing. The only notable thing about him would be his name.  _Akaashi_.

He’d grown to hate it.

What was once a blessing was now a curse—people knew who he was, people treated him like an Akaashi.

He wanted to be _Keiji_.

His mind produced the thought before he could stop it:  _Bokuto Keiji._

He blushed, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment.  _What the fuck._

“Keiji,” his mother questioned, “are you alright? You look a bit red…”

“It’s nothing,” Akaashi told her, “It’s just warm.”

“I knew we shouldn’t have come here.” His mother rolls her eyes. “The food isn’t even ready yet. Such terrible service.”

His father hummed in agreement.

And Akaashi realizes that he doesn’t want to be there—not in his seat, not in the restaurant, not with his parents. 

He doesn’t want to live like them, all stuffy offices and ironed suits.

He wants freedom. 

He wants peace. 

He wants to  _live_.

Akaashi laughs aloud. When was the last time he’d thought that? When was the last time he wanted to live?  _A long, long time ago._

“Keiji, are you sure you’re fine?”

He stands, planting his hands on the table and looking them both in the eyes. “No. I’m not.”

They stare at him, confused.

Akaashi’s restraint snaps. “Did you know, mother, that Kiyoko-san is in my business class? She’s incredibly smart, and I respect her very much. If your prejudice blinds you so much that you can’t even recognize her talent, then  _that_ is something to be ashamed of.”

His father sighs, looking tired. “Keiji—“

Akaashi wasn’t done. “I don’t want to marry. Marriage isn’t something I’ve considered because I’ve been too focused on surviving to care about who you tie me to. But I’m  _done_ . No interviews. No weddings. No  _girls_ .”

His mother stands angrily. “You will  _listen_ —“

Akaashi laughs mirthlessly. “You’ve forced me into everything I’ve done. I haven’t had a single activity that I’ve chosen to do on my own account. I don’t want to live like that—I don’t want to live in  _chains_ . So now...I’m choosing  _me_. ” He turns to his father. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I won’t be successful as an editor. But I’m going to try.” He grabs his coat and shrugs it on, his heart thudding in his chest. “Oh. And Bokuto-san?” Affection flared in his chest as he remembered who he was heading home to. “He’s the best fucking piano player you will ever meet. He’s talented, kind and he’s caring. Also,” he looks up, glaring straight into his mother’s eyes, daring her to speak. “I’m gay.”

She gasps, her cheeks wet with tears. His father drops his fork on the ground. They stare at him, open-mouthed, eyes wide.

Akaashi leaves the restaurant feeling lighter than he ever remembers feeling.

_Bokuto. Bokuto. Bokuto_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY HEY HEY ARE YOU READY?? Because I’m not. I cried while writing this lol (;-;)
> 
> Next up: some confessions


	13. Keiji & Koutarou

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They stand like that for a minute or a thousand years, suspended in a moment where they’re both just Keiji and Koutarou, and it’s enough—they’re enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Humans and aliens, pancakes and waffles, this is the moment you’ve been waiting for.

The surge of anger and determination rush out of him the moment he leaves the restaurant.

He’s walking but he doesn’t know where to, his feet moving down the street as dark clouds gather overhead. 

_What have I done?_

_What will they do?_

_What will I do?_

He’s lost—both physically and emotionally, unsure and unsteady on his feet as he walks away from his parents and away from any love they had left.

Slowly, doubt creeps into his mind.  _What if Bokuto doesn’t…_

No.  _There’s no way he..._

_But what if? What if this was all for nothing?_

Akaashi swallows hard.  _Then, I’ll have to deal with the consequences_.

He knows he can’t talk to his parents now—at least not for a while. He isn’t sure if he wants to. A burden he hadn’t fully realized he’d been carrying had been lifted, and he felt light as a feather. There’s no secrets between them now.

However, another hidden truth remains.

He isn’t sure how, or when, it happened, but…

He knows he is in love with Bokuto Koutarou.

_Well then._

Akaashi slows to a stop when he nears his apartment building.  _Should I go inside? Is Bokuto-san home?_

He isn’t sure what he would say, anyhow.

How does he put into words what he’s feeling?

_How do I show him…_

Akaashi turns on his heel, fear coursing through him as he decides to take a long detour through the park where they’d played volleyball only a night ago. He runs his hand along the net, memories rushing to meet him. He can clearly see Bokuto, flying high and spiking the ball down, shouting in glee when it scores them a point. A soft smile tugs at his lips and he drops his hand. His fingers itch to set a nonexistent ball, twitching as he recalls the feeling he got when he set the ball, the control and peace he felt, but also... happiness.

Akaashi wasn’t happy, but...he could be.

A snowflake plops into his outstretched hand, tiny and small and melting instantly. He squints up at the sky just as it begins to blizzard—starting out as only a small flurry and turning into a mild snowstorm. 

It soaks his clothes through and he shivers, wrapping his arms around himself but lacking the energy to move. So, he stands in the snow in an empty volleyball court, cold and wet and alone, and yet he’s smiling.

His mind chants,  _Bokuto, Bokuto, Bokuto._

Akaashi decides that doubt and fear will hold him back no longer, taking one last long look at the court. 

“ ‘KAASHI! ”

Akaashi froze.  _What do I do—_

Bokuto, who had been running full-speech towards him, stopped a few feet away hesitantly, bouncing and twitching like he always did—though Akaashi had noticed that the fidgeting mostly went away when Bokuto was around him, so the return of the fidget made him wary. 

Akaashi clears his throat. “Hello, Bokuto-san.”

“How did your dinner go?”

“It was…” Akaashi searched for the right word, “eventful.”  _Understatement of the year._ “I, um...I told them I was gay.”

Bokuto’s eyes widened and he took a step closer. “What did they do?”

Akaashi laughed. “I’m not sure. I left before I could see.”

“Oh…” Bokuto’s hopeful expression changed for the worse, turning sad and yet...understanding? “I’m sorry, ‘Kaashi.”

“Don’t be. It’s not your fault...it’s mine,” he muttered. “It’s all over and done with, anyway.”

Bokuto seemed to forget his reservations, coming close and wrapping his arms around Akaashi. 

Momentarily, Akaashi forgot how to speak. Bokuto's arms were strong and warm and he felt  safe , like he was tucked into his own little world and nothing could go wrong so long as he stayed there. He buried his face into Bokuto’s chest, inhaling shakily. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Bokuto murmurs quietly. “But I’ll listen, if you need it.”

“I…” Akaashi chokes on a sob, his throat tightening and his eyes watering as he holds back tears. “I wish I was enough for them.”

Bokuto’s arms tighten around him. “Don’t say that.”

Akaashi whispers, “I’ve never been enough for them.”

“You’ve always been enough, ‘Kaashi. Always.”

“I’m not.”

Bokuto drew back slightly so he could look down into Akaashi’s eyes. “You  are ,” he says, pure certainty in his tone. He repeated the words Akaashi had told him only a night before, soft and full of affection, “You’re _incredible_ , Keiji. Really.”

_Keiji_.  It’s different from when his parents say it—laced with iron and thorns, poison and fake love. This time…

Akaashi smiles. 

This time, he sees the truth behind Bokuto’s words, and he dares to hope that there’s love there, too.

“Thank you, Koutarou,” Akaashi says, figuring that since Bokuto’s using his first name, he should do the same. “For everything.”

_Everything_ —it’s a weak word for what Bokuto’s done for him. 

Bokuto hums, and there’s a strange look on his face—like he’s just eaten a lemon—so comical that Akaashi can’t hold back his laughter. “What?”

“I just…” Bokuto scrunches his nose up. “I _really_ want to kiss you right now.”

Akaashi’s heart skips a beat. His face feels hot and he’s suddenly aware of how close they are—only inches apart, and he can feel Bokuto’s breath on his cheek. He swallows hard. “Okay.”

Bokuto looks like he wasn’t expecting this answer and hesitates only a moment before pressing his lips against Akaashi’s.

Akaashi’s thoughts stutter to a stop. He’s consumed by the feeling that blossoms in his chest, the heat in his stomach when he leans into the kiss, the pure joy he’s feeling. He smiles, wrapping his arms around Bokuto’s neck and relishing in his warmth and his smell, and he’s finally,  _finally_ , at peace.

They stand like that for a minute or a thousand years, suspended in a moment where they’re both just Keiji and Koutarou, and it’s enough— _they’re_ enough.

Bokuto breaks away first, breathing heavily, grinning wider than Akaashi’s ever seen him grin. Snow sticks to his face and hair, reminding them both that it’s winter, still, and it’s cold. “Maybe we should go inside.”

Akaashi nods, untangling himself from Bokuto and shaking the snow off his hair. “Good idea.”

“Hey, Hey, Keiji?”

“Yes?”

“I…” Bokuto trails off, blushing. “I-I’m really glad I met you.”

Akaashi grins. “I’m glad I met you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLOOO EVERYONE THIS IS NOT THE END (PROBABLY) 
> 
> I’m gonna write some epilogue-like shit, so fear not, the story will continue
> 
> I’ve had so much fun writing this, I’m gonna write another one! Kagehina ship this time, because I love them so much. Also, there will most definitely be an Iwaoi fic. This has become my life now and I’ve accepted that ♪~ ᕕ(ᐛ)ᕗ
> 
> THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHOS READING THIS I LOVE YOU AND I APPRECIATE YOU SO MUCH!! (っ◔︣◡◔᷅)っ ❤


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